


A New Beginning

by Severina



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Community: tv-universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 06:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4169724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now the man known as James McGraw is truly dead, and there is only Captain Flint in his place. And though she didn't realize it at the time, the woman known as Abigail Ashe also died that day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I recently mainlined both seasons of "Black Sails" in the course of about a week, and then flailed and clapped and made strange seal-like noises. Once that was done, this ficlet happened. Post Season Two, and written for LJ's tv_universe for their challenge "what I did on my hiatus". (Also, I love the idea of Abigail/Vane. I can't be alone, can I?)
> 
> * * *

Abigail is sitting at the window seat when the men begin filing into the room. She feels that she ought to be pacing, wearing a path in the fine carpet with her worry, but she is used to waiting quietly, used to being a silent observer. 

The reports from Charles Town are scattered and wild, words pouring from the mouths of men who are still soot-blackened and bloody. Cannon fire has destroyed the town, they say, crumpling buildings into fine powder; a dozen pirates stormed the government building and slew everyone in their path; ladies are being defiled in the streets, babes put to the knife; the militia fought bravely but could not stem the rampaging horde. Occasionally the men glance warily in her direction before blurting out their tales, but Abigail keeps her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast and does not gasp at the stories of bloodshed and horror, and eventually the men forget that she is there at all.

She listens, and keeps her own counsel. 

The sun is beginning to set when the news comes of her father's death. She rises then, accepts the sympathies offered and begs off to walk in the garden. There she finds another seat, this one beneath a hanging bower of golden buds, and bows her head. She tries to remember the man who held her in his lap when she was a little girl and sang songs to lull her to sleep, who read to her, who sat patiently while she demonstrated her prowess with her letters. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine his smiling face, but all she can see is Mrs. Hamilton lying still and insensible on the dining room floor; the small round hole that mars her forehead, so tiny to have wrought such damage. 

Abigail opens her eyes and stares at her hands, blunt nails and pale fingers. The stories of the fall of Charles Town replay endlessly through her mind, each more improbable than the last, but all with one constant: the names of the pirate captains who led the uprising. Captain Flint, of course. And Charles Vane.

Somehow she is not at all surprised that it is Captain Vane who commanded the rescue. 

Her hands curl into fists, nails digging into her palms. While she could not dredge up a single happy image of her father, she has no problem visualizing Charles Vane laying waste to the port of Charles Town and preventing the travesty of justice from taking the life of Captain Flint. She sees again the prone figure of Mrs. Hamilton in her mind's eye and does not feel the sting when her nails break the skin. 

"Good," she whispers.

* * *

In the days that follow, Abigail is told that she will be returning to London on the first available vessel. She is instructed on what clothes to have her servants pack, on what books she shall be allowed to bring with her, and reminded on several occasions that a young lady will have no use of a journal. She is informed that she will be staying with a friend of her father's until a suitable husband can be found for her. 'If one can be found at all' is never stated outright, but the implication hangs heavy in the air.

Abigail acquiesces to all of this silently, and flits about the house almost entirely unobserved. No one notices the missing silver cutlery, or that the purse that holds the money for the household expenses is considerably lighter from one day to the next. It is only when she stares down at the stolen items buried at the bottom of her satchel does she admit to herself that she has no intention of following orders any longer.

She is used to remaining quiet. Used to being told what to believe and how to feel. But all of that ended when the woman who had only ever been kind to her was murdered mere feet from where she stood; when her father protected the murderer and instead prosecuted the man who had returned his daughter safely to his home. Now the man known as James McGraw is truly dead, and there is only Captain Flint in his place. And though she didn't realize it at the time, the woman known as Abigail Ashe also died that day. She is still unsure who she will become, but she knows that she can no longer sit idly by while decisions are made on her behalf, whether in Savannah or in London. That she must take the reins and control her own destiny.

On the seventh day after the fall of Charles Town, she pleads a headache at midday and retires to her room. She quickly discards her mourning gown and slips into a dress of pale blue flowers; smooths it over her hips and straightens the sleeves. The colour reminds her of the waters of Nassau, and for the first time since she saw Mrs. Hamilton dead on the floor a smile tentatively curls her lips. 

Then she nods and takes up her valise, stopping only to place a fresh journal into the bag, its pages clean and unblemished. Stealing from the house will be dangerous; making her way unaccompanied to the docks and securing passage on a ship even more so. But she has made up her mind, her decision unfettered by all that she was told to believe for so many years. The men of Nassau may be pirates, but they do not lie. They do not pretend to be other than what they are. They are loyal to each other, and they would never do what her father had done, what the people of Charles Town had done. And she would rather live among thieves in the sunshine and sand than fade away in the dark and dismal drawing rooms of a London town home.

And if she must be truly honest with herself, she is also going to Nassau in the hope of seeing him again. Her mind whirls with the contradiction of him. A pirate, yet he risked all to save Flint's life. Though he held her prisoner, he also saved her from Low's depredations. He kept her captive, yet never touched her or raised his voice to her. And beyond all this he may already love another, and could hardly hope to show any interest in an untried girl such as herself. 

Captain Vane may captivate and confound her, she thinks as she slinks from the house and makes her way down the garden path, but even without him she will embrace Nassau. There, she can be free.


End file.
